


Liberal Arts

by AwkwardFortuna



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bad Parent John Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Character Study, College Student! Sam Winchester, Crack Treated Seriously, Dean Doth Protest Too Much, Dean explores himself, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester is long gone in this one, John Winchester’s leather jacket, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, One Shot, Sexuality Crisis, bear with me, i wrote this in a day, not wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29040003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardFortuna/pseuds/AwkwardFortuna
Summary: Dean doesn’t know how they somehow got on to the topic of ‘gay sex’ but some time after ‘Hello Sammy, how’s school going?’ and 'How are classes?' they just up and veered straight into it, like a car with it's brakes cut loose, crashing straight into a fucking tree.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	Liberal Arts

Dean does not know how they somehow got on to the topic of _‘gay sex,’_ but some time after _‘Hello Sammy, how’s school going?_ ’ and _'How are classes?'_ they just up and veered straight into it, like a car with its brakes cut loose, crashing straight into a fucking tree.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy!"

Dean ducks out of the break room and away from the prying eyes and ears of his coworkers, he steps into the restroom and checks each and every stall before locking the door with shaking and sweaty fingers.

"What?" Sam scoffs, "You asked me how my classes were going and I'm telling you!"

"What class is this again?" 

"Human sexuality."

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose like somehow that's going to help him make the vein in his forehead stop growing, but then Sam is continuing on and on about- about _homosexuality,_ like it's no big deal! And Christ, when Sam said he wanted to go to school in California, Dean figured there'd be hippy-dippy shit out there, but not _this_ level of hippy-dippy shit. 

"What the hell kind of shit are they teaching you there?" 

"Good shit," Sam says, his voice haughty and proud like the know-it-all that he is _._ "Shit like acceptance and self-love, and that it's okay to experiment with your sexuality."

“And what? Are you telling me that you have?” Dean means it as a joke. Really, he does. He hopes and prays that Sam will prove him wrong, but then he says,

 _“Yeah, Dean."_ All slow and condescending, as if Dean's a fucking toddler. _"I have.”_

The record scratches and Dean freezes. His heart jumps into his throat. “S-say that again, Sammy?” His voice sounds soft now. Too soft, like John Winchester ‘Boys don’t cry,’ soft. He runs a hand down his face like somehow it’ll ground him. 

It doesn’t.

“I’ve tried it. It was nice, but it wasn’t for me.”

“Sammy,” Dean’s hands are shaking, the phone threatens to slip from his fingers. “Why the hell are you telling me this?”

“I’m telling you this because dad’s not here anymore and you need to let go of your hang-ups and start figuring out who _you_ are, and not the person that dad wanted you to be.”

Dean rests his head against the porcelain sink, the phone sits heavily in the palm of his hands.

The thing about Dean is this: he's always known that he was different, he just didn't know _how_ or in _what_ way, but John always seemed to. And back when he was still alive _-before the cigarettes and the booze killed him-_ John would pull Dean aside and say 'Men have got to be strong. They've got to be hunters and providers. They find wives and take care of them and their children, as I do for you and Sammy. Anything else is unnatural. You get that, right? Do you understand me, Dean?" and he wouldn't let Dean go, practically shaking him at the shoulders until Dean nodded his head with a tense ' _Yes sir.'_

 _'Atta boy,'_ John would say, and then he'd ruffled Dean's hair and say ' _Now go take care of Sammy."_

“Dean? You still there?” He sounds worried now, like maybe he's afraid that he's pushed Dean too far out from his comfort zone, but that ship sailed the second Sam decided that this was a good conversation to have. “Listen, I’m not trying to pressure you. I just wanted you to know that-“

“That _'It's okay to experiment with my sexuality?_ '” Dean parrots back, and even just repeating the phrase physically hurts him. 

“Dean,” Sam groans and he can just picture it; his baby brother’s big brown eyes rolling at him, his shaggy hair flopping down over his brow-line with that little crease between his eyes that he gets whenever Dean is being particularly obtuse.

“That’s not what I meant. Well, I mean, it _is_ what I meant but I just- I just want you to be _happy_ , Dean.”

“Who says I’m not?” Dean grumbles. “I’m peachy fuckin’ keen.”

“Dean-“

He cuts him off. “Look, Sammy, I’m glad you…you came out, or whatever, but that’s got nothing to do with me, okay?” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I appreciate the concern, alright? But you don’t have to worry about me, okay? That’s my job, not yours.”

“Sure, Dean,” Sam says, in a way that is wholly aggravating to every fiber of Dean’s being. “Just think about what I said, okay?”

Dean scoffs at that, the idea of Sammy, his _baby brother_ , out there making out with some burnout surfer dude in California who probably wears puka shells is enough to make his head spin. 

“Sammy, I’m gonna do all that I can to _not_ think about what you just said.”

*

Dean can't get the phone call out of his head.

In his mind, he plays it over and over again, like a damn broken record that keeps skipping on the chorus.

He's practically _haunted_ by it and the fact that Sammy - _his_ _baby brother-_ felt the _need_ to contact him and tell him- tell him that ' _It's okay to experiment with sexuality,'_ as if the two of them grew up in two completely different households where being a queer meant that you weren't any less of a human being than anybody else, and _holy fuck,_ ain't that a concept?

The mere thought of it is rattling around in Dean's brain and he's trying to wrap his head around the _absurdity_ of it while he's busy fumbling with the open hood of his Impala, trying _hard_ to not think about the fact that Sam has infected him with this seed of doubt that is now blooming full force in his lungs. Fuck it, it's hard to breath. It feels like his lungs are collapsing, like he's choking on air, like- like John Winchester's hand on the back of his neck, keeping his head straight and his eyes forward whenever queer couples walked past them and _Jesus Christ,_ Dean nearly slams the hood down on his fingers when he realizes that he-

he wants to-

he wants...

Simply, he _wants._

*

“What do you want?” the man asks, closing the door to the hotel room behind him with a _click_ that startles Dean into the realization that _holy shit,_ _this is actually happening._

He’s standing in the middle of a fucking hotel room with a man that he met online who _wants_ to have sex with him and Dean would laugh at the incredulity of it all if his throat wasn’t so suddenly, painfully, dry. 

Castiel _(Well, technically AngelFace420,)_ found him on Grindr, an app that Dean secretly downloaded after an extensive google search of people who...who might be _interested_ in what Dean was interested in. Now, Dean was no prude _(far from it,)_ but the first week he downloaded the app his inbox had been flooded with enough messages and dick pics that could make even a demon blush, and Dean had been ready to throw the towel in when Castiel's message came in.

It was a very simple, very normal: _Hello, Dean._

And Dean had clung to their text thread like it was a life-line, chatting back and forth with Castiel in a way that felt so naturally _easy_ than it had with anyone else before. It didn't matter if Cas's conversation was a little bit stilted _(An after effect of home-schooling and being the youngest in a family of 10 where he was seen and not heard, Dean would later learn,)_ or that he sometimes rambled on and on about the metacognition of bees _(which according to Cas, was quite fascinating.)_

All in all, the man was nice, and sweet, and unbearably hot, and Dean had given him his number and said _'Meet me at the hotel off of the 101 freeway,'_ and now, well, here they were with Dean standing stiff in the middle of the hotel room while Castiel smiled softly at him.

Really, he shouldn't be so nervous. It's not like this was the first time that Dean has ever done this before _-This being having sex with strangers in a hotel room-_ but he feels like a fish out of water, like he's flopping on the beach and he can't tell which way is up. It doesn't help that Cas is devastatingly handsome, or that Dean can't keep his eyes off of him. His heart just keeps on fluttering like a bird stuck in its cage, and Dean can't quite look at the man in his beautiful blue eyes for too long of a time or else his face threatens to turn frightening shades of _red._

_Fuck._

Castiel inquires, “Fast, slow? Hard? soft?” and Dean startles, having forgotten that Cas had even asked a question in the first place.

The man steps deeper into the room, circling where Dean awkwardly stands like he's a Lynx, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Castiel tilts his head to the side, eyeing Dean with an intense stare before starting to undress himself, beginning first with the tie at his neck. Dean's eyes are wide and watching as Castiel slips the knot loose and open with lithe and nimble fingers.

_Fuck, fuck, holy shit. He has nice hands._

“Slow it is then,” Cas laughs, slinging the tie and tossing it over his shoulder. He had shown up dressed like a sexy bank teller while Dean felt painfully underdressed in his ripped jeans, flannel, and leather jacket and fuck, it makes him feel hot beneath the collar because of it.

“Nah we don’t-“ Dean clears his throat and fumbles over his words like an _idiot._ “We don’t have to take it slow.”

Castiel quirks an eyebrow at him but thankfully, doesn't call him out on his bullshit. Instead, he says "Right, how about we start slow and see where that takes us?"

"Cool." Dean grimaces at the hitch in his voice.

Cas takes a step closer to Dean before bringing his hands up slowly -allowing him the time to pull away if he wants to- and places them on the sides of Dean's face, pulling him in all soft and gentle, smooth like molasses, warm as honey. Kissing Dean with the subtle bow of his closed lips. It's a chaste kiss, but Dean feels weak in the knees regardless.

"Dean," Cas says in a breathy sigh. "Was that okay?"

He nods his head first, unsure if he can get the words out without stuttering and making a complete fool of himself.

"Y-yeah."

Cas smiles and Dean feels himself heating up from head to toe. Castiel leans in and kisses him again and again but this time there's more _heat_ , more _pressure_ , and Cas is licking into Dean's mouth and Dean feels like he's falling and he's got that fish-out-of-water feeling again but he doesn't mind it. He doesn't mind it at all.

Castiel presses up against him and their bodies touch from head to toe, and Dean feels like jelly in his hands. His face is flushed red and there's no hiding it as Cas is pressing open-mouthed kisses to the corner of his lips, the side of his jaw, and Dean whines something terrible and vulnerable and full of want. He wears his dad's leather jacket like it's a second skin and it has never felt so _suffocating_ before. Dean thinks that he could die from it, and suddenly Castiel is kissing down, down, down, past the side of his jaw and licking a stripe down the side of Dean's neck before stopping at the collar of John’s leather jacket.

Cas pushes it aside to gain a bit more access to Dean’s skin, his clavicle and the curve of his shoulder, where he rests his head before asking Dean 

“Is this okay?” 

_“Yeah,_ ” Dean says breathlessly, “It's more than okay.”

Castiel smiles against his skin and helps Dean out of his jacket, one arm at a time, caressing each and every inch of skin as it is slowly revealed.

He pushes the sleeves down until the jacket falls to the floor in a pile of old leather.

Cas asks “That’s better, isn’t it?” and all Dean can do is agree.

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll I stopped watching SPN when I was like, 17, (I think at the start of the Mark of Cain plot???) But recent events *cough*Destiel*cough* have sucked me straight back into it. 
> 
> Anyways, hope ya'll can enjoy this little diddy.


End file.
